Jessie gave a silent moan of jealousy as she beheld Greg's car: a vintage, ice blue Mustang, in perfect condition. The envy only grew as she slid into the passenger seat. Not only was the car a vintage Mustang, it was totally pimped out: A/C, CD player, satellite radio, even automatic shifting in place of the clutch.
A short drive later, and they were parked in front of the bar Greg had indicated.
"The 'Cosmoo'?" Jessie asked dubiously. "Never heard of it."
"Well," Greg started up, never one to miss the opportunity to sound highly informed, "They were going to name it the 'Cosmo', but the casino of the same name threatened a huge lawsuit, so they changed it to 'Cosmoo'."
Jessie had to admit, it looked cool. Over the doorway stood a huge neon sign: a cow in a bikini held a margarita and lay, posed like a swimsuit model, on a shooting star. The stardust trailed into the curlicued name of the bar.
Once inside, Greg lost no time in ordering the bar's specialty for both of them: Stardust Shooters: a potent mix of coconut rum, Smirnoff, and chocolate liquer. "Do you know how to play 'I Never'?" he asked Jessie with a wicked grin.
The redhead scoffed. "Doesn't everyone?" She took a cautious sip of her drink. Damn, but it was tasty! "You starting, or should I?" At Greg's nonchalant shrug, she grinned, thinking for a moment. "Okay, then," she declared, "I never...went skinny dipping. And the bathtub doesn't count!"
Greg swore under his breath, and took a swig of his drink. "Damn. My secret's out." He put his drink down again. "I never...did a Polar Bear Swim."
It was Jessie's turn to drink, and she did so with a flourish. "Damn straight I did!" she crowed proudly. "It was cold, I was drunk, and I got paid!" At his look, she clarified, "Spring break cruise to Alaska. Sorority party dare. Got bronchitis soon after. End of story."
Pretty soon, they had both lost count of how many drinks they had had, and the 'I never's were getting quite ridiculous.
Jessie, out of old habit, was still gnawing on her lip, which had started to bleed very slightly. Of course, she was too drunk to notice.
Greg searched his mind for another one, racking his fuzzy, drink-addled brains for just one more 'I never'. The CSI side of him was already cowering in a far corner of his mind, thinking of the next day's hangover, Grissom's wrath, and all the DNA evidence that could be thrown out by his mistakes caused by said hangover. The lustful, crazy kid was dancing in circles around the CSI, giving the serious side of Greg a few playful pokes and taunts. Then, one came to him. "Okay, I go' one. How 'bout this: I never...kissed you before." Before he lost his nerve, Greg leaned in and closed his mouth over Jessie's. Wow, he thought. She tasted of chocolate-covered coconut rum, underlaid with a faint, coppery sweetness that the CSI cowering in his head instantly identified as blood from her teeth-worried lip.
Jessie's last intelligible thought was, Hmmmmmm. His lips are really soft. Taste nice, too. Then, she pulled reluctantly away, stood up, and grabbed Greg's car keys. Being only three sheets to the wind while he was at least nine meant she was the driver. And she thought it wise to get both of them out of the bar before one, the other, or both of them ended up on the counter of the bar.
"Wait! Wha you doin? Where you goin?" Greg complained, aware only that he was no longer kissing her. "Hey, Red, come back here! Those're m'keys!" He drunkenly reeled in front of her, and kissed her again.
Jessie pulled her mouth from his. "I know. I'm taking you home. We're both drunk enough. I don't think the others here need us to be going any further." She shivered as Greg nipped lightly at her earlobe and pressed up against her.
"Please?" Greg truly sounded like an impatient, spoiled child now.
Jessie shook the keys at him. "The sooner you get that terrifically gorgeous ass into the car, the sooner we can make that whining of yours stop." Or get louder, she thought wickedly. Hmmm...Red...hot name. I like it. In her mind, she was dancing wildly, but also envisioning all the terribly kinky things she could do to a totally wasted Greg Sanders. Damn it. I just said that out loud, didn't I?
Greg beat her to the car, snapping out of his drunken, horny stupor to wince as Jessie wove in and out of lanes, clipping his mailbox on the way into his driveway. Or at least he hoped it was his driveway. He peered muzzily at the house number. Yup. His. At least she understood his directions.
The pair barely made it into the house before they were fiercely kissing again, and more. There was a mad scramble as they hopelesly juggled various articles of clothing.
Jessie's last conscious thought was, Yippeeeee! Wait, hangover tomorrow! Ooooohhh, that felt good. Uh-oh. That hand is going where? Ah, what the hell. Live it up, girl! She kicked the bedroom door shut behind them.